


How Not to Fall in Love with Your Partner

by starandrea



Category: Almost Human
Genre: Christmas, Fluff, M/M, Meet the Family, Seasonal, Vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-30
Updated: 2015-02-03
Packaged: 2018-03-04 07:42:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3004265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starandrea/pseuds/starandrea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John invites Dorian home for Christmas to meet the family (and to keep John from never speaking to them again).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

John doesn't take time off.  He hasn't used a single personal day since he returned to active duty.  He accumulates comp hours every other month by picking up holiday shifts.  Dorian appreciates it, though he knows John doesn't do it for him.

Captain Maldonado does not appreciate it.  She cited mandatory holiday leave when John tried to work Thanksgiving and told him not to come back until Monday.  Mandatory holiday leave isn't an official or enforceable department policy, and Dorian considered mentioning this when John glowered.  The captain made it clear, however, that she would tolerate nothing less than full compliance.

So John went on vacation, and Dorian endured four days of excruciating boredom.  He didn't complain.  It isn't about him, and he's not allowed to have an opinion either way.  He does spend a significant amount of time before John comes back on Monday wondering how to greet him.

Dorian was first assigned to John on a Tuesday.  The following week, he politely inquired about John's weekend.  John growled, "None of your damn business," and Dorian got the message.  He hasn't asked again.

Surely this time it's appropriate, though.  John's been away longer than usual.  He even had plans other than "sit around and feel sorry for himself" with the option of "possibly get drunk."  Dorian would like to think that their relationship has progressed to the point where John is comfortable talking about his off hours.

In the end, though, Rudy beats him to it.  Dorian is just outside when he overhears Rudy saying, “How was your weekend?"  It's distracted and routine, like he doesn’t even care about the answer.

“Fine,” John says as Dorian enters the lab, shrugging into his jacket and wishing he’d been a little faster.  Or a little slower.  He can’t pretend he didn’t hear, and if he asks again John will be exasperated at best.  “You ready?”

“Yes,” Dorian says.

Then Rudy looks up, surprising Dorian with his sudden interest.  “Oh,” he says.  “Sorry, right, the holiday.  Thanksgiving.  How was that?”

“It was fine,” John says again.  He sounds exasperated.

“You were going to Sandra’s,” Rudy says.  “Was that nice?  I mean, I’m sure it was.  She probably cooks a delicious… bird.”

“She’s a terrible cook,” John says.  “Her sister cooked.  The whole family’s vegetarian; there weren’t any birds.  Can we go?”

“Yes, of course.”  Rudy doesn’t look taken aback, but Dorian thinks that's odd.  Why would Sandra have said she didn’t want to see John until Monday if he was joining her for Thanksgiving dinner?

They have a case.  John brings it up as soon as the lab doors close, and it’s all they talk about until they walk into the bullpen.  John doesn’t say anything else about his Thanksgiving until Valerie asks, “Have a good weekend?”

Dorian sees John shrug.  Valerie has her back to him, passing by on her way to her desk.  “Fine,” John says.  “You?”

“My family still disapproves of my life choices,” Valerie says.  “Surprise.”

“Yeah.”  John sounds almost sympathetic, and Dorian watches his expression twist.  “Know how that goes.”

It makes Valerie turn in her chair, patting her MX on the arm and pointing to the side.  Max takes a single step to the left so she can look at John.  “How’s Marty doing?”

“Getting big,” John says.  “You got any analysis on Keegman?

“Yeah,” Valerie says.  “It’s weird, though.  I’m sending you the files, but I want to talk to you about them before you start interviewing people.”

They’re still conferring when Sandra arrives.  Dorian’s been assigned to camera scan and isolation while Sandra gets an update from John and Valerie.  It isn’t Valerie’s case, but John will probably request her as a consultant before the end of the day.  They’ve been sharing case credit more often lately.

“Good,” Sandra says at last.  She straightens up and adds, “Keep me posted.”

Dorian hasn’t found so much as a blip on the cameras, so he has nothing to contribute when Valerie nods and John says, “Can I get Val on a consult this afternoon?  I could use her help on the tower interviews.”

“Of course,” Sandra says.  She’s already moving on when she stops and turns back.  “Oh, and John.  How’s your mother?”

“Fine,” John tells her.  “She says hi.”

It makes Sandra smile, but Dorian doesn’t think she looks pleased.  “I’m sure she does,” Sandra says.  “Let me know what you find at the tower.”

John raises his hand somewhere between a wave and a salute and she nods in return.  When Sandra steps away, Valerie gives John a curious look.  She’s not the only one, and John shoots Dorian a sideways glance before catching her eye and looking away.

Dorian watches carefully as Valerie whispers, “Did you tell her you talked to your mother?”

“What, she cornered me,” John whispers back.  “It’s easier to lie to Sandra than it is to buy another phone after I’ve thrown mine against the wall.”

Valerie lets out a breath like a laugh and smiles as she looks down.  “You need to get a tougher phone,” she murmurs.

“No,” John tells her, “I need to stop talking to my family.”

“You and me both,” she agrees, taking a celo off his desk and rolling back to her own.  “I have to do some other paperwork; can I meet you at the tower after lunch?”

“Sure,” he says.  “That’d be great.”

Dorian is still staring when John catches his eye again.  John looks away just as quickly, and Dorian is careful not to let his expression change.  John can’t avoid him forever.

He manages it for three hours and twenty-four minutes.  That’s pretty good for John; it’s the sixth longest time he's managed without physically separating himself from Dorian and refusing to answer his phone.  But they have to get in the car eventually, and Dorian doesn’t even wait until they clear the parking lot.

“How many stories did you invent to cover up the fact that you spent Thanksgiving alone?” Dorian asks, as soon as he’s fastened his seatbelt.

“I didn’t spend it alone,” John replies.  He doesn’t sound as angry as Dorian expected.  He sounds more resigned than anything, and the hint of apathy is alarming.  “Me and Jim Beam had a great holiday together.  What’s it to you, anyway?”

“If it doesn’t matter, why lie about it?” Dorian wants to know.

“It doesn’t matter what I do,” John says.  “It matters that no one will get off my back about it.  Including you,” he adds.

“Do you know how I spent the weekend?” Dorian asks.

“Playing pin the tail on the turkey with Rudy?” John counters.

“I spent it thinking to myself, ‘at least John’s having a good time,’” Dorian tells him.

“Are you guilt tripping me?”  John doesn’t sound impressed.  “Are you seriously trying to make me feel guilty for having a shitty weekend?”

“Did you have a shitty weekend?” Dorian says.  “Because it sounds like a lot of people care how you feel.  Maybe if you told them the truth--”

“They know,” John interrupts.  “Jesus, Dorian, why do you think they invite me in the first place?  Everyone’s always inviting me over.  Maria, Sandra, hell, even Val tried to get me to watch the game with her on Sunday.”

“Why didn’t you?” Dorian wants to know.  “Surely you could bond over your mutual dislike of family members.”

“I don’t dislike my family,” John grumbles.

John’s never talked about his family in anything other than the past tense, so Dorian decides to save that for later.  “But you didn’t spend Thanksgiving with them,” he says instead.  “Any of them.  Did you tell everyone that you had plans with someone else?”

“I told everyone someone else invited me,” John says.  “That’s not actually a lie.”

“It’s an intentional deception,” Dorian says.

“Wait, what did you and Rudy do?” John asks.  “It wasn’t even a little bit fun?”

“He worked,” Dorian says.  “I worked.  That’s what we do.”

“That’s what I tried to do,” John complains.  “I was forced to take time off!”

“How tragic for you,” Dorian says.  “To be required to stop working.  To be invited to three separate celebrations of gratitude, and to have the choice to stay home and drink instead.  It sounds terrible.”

“It is,” John growls.  “I hate the holidays.”

Dorian stares out the windshield and doesn’t say anything else.  He looks up John’s family, something he previously avoided out of misguided respect for the man’s privacy.  He thought John might be disappointed to find out Dorian knew.  He thought John might even tell him himself someday.

Right now he thinks he doesn’t care.

John’s father died ten years ago, and his mother remarried four years later.  John has a step-sister, Dorian notes.  Courtney Xing is a drone operator, unmarried, with two children.  Dorian is surprised that John’s never mentioned his niece or nephew.

“What did you work on?” John asks abruptly.  “Over the weekend, I mean.”

“The maintenance crew assigned to floors eleven through fifteen,” Dorian says.

John doesn’t answer.  Dorian looks through his step-family’s education and accomplishments before moving on to his more distant relatives.  John’s never referred to anyone outside of his immediate family, and Dorian assumes he’s not in contact with them.  Still, genealogy is a fascinating field, and it passes the time.

He doesn’t expect Sandra to pull him aside that evening.  John and Valerie are arguing over the video evidence Dorian found when Sandra singles him out.  John looks up immediately, but Sandra waves him back to what he was doing.

She doesn’t ask Dorian to leave the bullpen.  She stops in front of the city map, an occupied MX on either side of her as she says, “Dorian, did John tell you anything about his plans for Thanksgiving?”

Dorian considers that.  “Not willingly,” he says.

“Did he say anything to you today,” Sandra continues, “about whether he actually followed through on those plans?”

“I asked him a similar question,” Dorian says.  “He explicitly contradicted my implication and strongly indicated that I should stay out of his personal life.”

“So, no,” Sandra says.  “He didn’t spend Thanksgiving with his family.  Or anyone?” she asks, giving him a look he doesn’t know how to interpret.

“At the risk of being accused of betrayal for the eighth time,” Dorian says, “no.  To the best of my knowledge, he was alone.”

“I see,” Sandra says.  “Thank you, Dorian.”

He nods once, turning to look across the bullpen as she leaves.  Valerie is sitting in his chair at John’s desk.  The shift has largely turned over, although the curfew for day shift synthetics hasn’t sounded yet.  Bracketed by MXs, Dorian wonders if he should go with them when it does.  As long as John stays in the precinct, he doesn’t need a partner--a bullet-catcher, Dorian reminds himself--and he might prefer to work with Valerie alone.

John looks up and catches his eye.  He jerks his head in invitation, and Dorian goes back to him without question.  John asks what Sandra wanted, and Dorian weighs John’s most likely reactions to a variety of scenarios.

He ends up saying, “She was checking up on you.  You’re a candle in the wind, John.”

“Shut up,” John says reflexively.

Valerie laughs at him, and John threatens to tell Richard who hid all the coffee filters last week.  She rolls her eyes and promises to tell Sandra that he didn’t really go to Maria’s for Thanksgiving.  It makes John stop and stare, demanding to know how she figured that out, and Dorian thinks that of course her deduction is impressive.  She’s human, after all.

Valerie leaves before he does.  Dorian is troubled to realize he’s glad.

Rudy takes one look at him after John drops him off and says, “You know, you can get drunk.  If you want to.”

Dorian has to decide which question to ask first, but ultimately, the day Rudy is more observant than John can’t pass without comment.  “Why would you think I want to?” he asks.

"Your expression, mostly," Rudy says.  "You look like you just realized you're in love with your best friend."

Of all the things he could have said, this is the one that makes Dorian falter.  And of all the times Rudy isn’t watching or doesn’t notice, this time he sees it.  He sees Dorian hear how it sounds and think, _I’m going to be turned off for this._

“Oh,” Rudy says.  “Oh, I mean… you’re not, are you?  Or are you?  Because that’s okay, that’s fine.  We can totally work with that.  We can figure out some kind of protocol, if that’s what you need.”

Dorian smiles at him, though if Rudy’s reaction is anything to go by, it’s not his most convincing expression.  “I’m not in love with you, Rudy.”

Then, because he’s going to have to get better at lying, he adds, “I’m not in love with anyone.  I just need a charge.”

It’s not very plausible, given the slow pace of the day, but it would explain his behavior.  Unfortunately Rudy is familiar with that excuse, or at least the human equivalent.  And not in a way that makes him accept it.

“Right, of course,” he says.  “Not me, so.  Detective Stahl?  She’s quite intelligent; that’s understandable.  Probably empathetic to your situation, too, given her own upbringing.”

Dorian doesn’t see a connection, but if Rudy thinks he has inappropriate feelings for Valerie then he’ll tell her.  Somehow.  Soon.  He might not even mean to, but Dorian will hear about it immediately and he’d rather not.

“Rudy,” he says, as patiently as he can.  “I just told you that I’m not in love with anyone.  How was your day?”

“Ooh, Sandra,” Rudy says.  “Is it Sandra?  I mean, Captain Maldonado?  Because you have good taste, and she did keep you from being shipped into space, so there’s clearly some amount of reciprocal interest on her part.  Have you, uh, have you talked to her about it?”

“It isn’t Captain Maldonado,” Dorian says.

Rudy points at him and he knows he made a mistake.  “But it is someone!" Rudy exclaims. "Come on, you can tell me.  I can keep a secret.  Well, not from you.  But you already know, so it doesn’t matter.  Who are you--wait, are you lusting or pining?  Because that’s an important distinction.”

“No,” Dorian says.  “I’m not.”

“Oh,” Rudy says, like everything suddenly makes sense.  “She already knows.  You’re having a secret affair.  How exciting.  Does John know?  Did he know before me?  I mean, you spend more time with him than anyone, so I guess it makes sense--”

He stops talking, and there’s nothing Dorian can do.  He can’t keep Rudy from drawing whatever conclusions he’s going to draw.  Even in retrospect, he doesn't know how he could have avoided this.

"Dorian," Rudy says.  "Would you consider John--your best friend?"

"I consider him my partner," Dorian says.  He wishes he could just say, _I don't want to talk about it,_ the way John would.  “Because that’s what he is.”

“And,” Rudy says, like he doesn’t know why he has to ask.  “Are there rules against dating your partner?”

“It wouldn’t matter if there were,” Dorian says.  “John has no idea how to date an android and even less inclination.  I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t mention any… speculation of this sort to him.”

“Well, of course, my lips are sealed,” Rudy tells him.  “Though it does seem unlikely that this would be a surprise to him.  He’s rather adept at reading social cues.  Not that he always takes them, mind you, but I understand that he can be quite… charming.”

“I need to charge,” Dorian says.  It’s his only recourse from this conversation, which he doesn’t want going any farther.  “Have a good night, Rudy.”

In the morning, he finds a collection of articles flagged for his attention: all from Rudy’s account, and all with titles like “Why Best Friends Make Terrible Lovers,” “How to Fall Out of Love with Your Best Friend,” and “Friendship Is Love with Understanding.”  Dorian reads them all and sends Rudy a polite thank you.  Rudy correctly interprets this to mean Dorian is not interested in discussing it and leaves him alone for the rest of the day.

He’s the only one, and Dorian finds himself searching for more articles within hours.  Not because he feels anything he shouldn’t for John, or because he’s confused about what happens to synthetics who start wanting things for themselves.  He does it because Rudy’s treating it like a human problem, and Dorian’s starting to think he may need a human solution.

He doesn’t expect John to come stomping out of Sandra’s office ten minutes before lunch and announce to the entire bullpen, “This is your fault.”

Dorian knows it’s meant for him, no matter who John’s nominally addressing.  “Statistically,” he says, “it’s your fault, and you’re blaming me because you pretend that expediency and moral clarity are the same thing.”

John glares at him, which is nothing new, but he waits until he’s back at his desk to correct him, which is.  “I have Christmas off,” he says.  He doesn’t whisper, but he isn’t broadcasting it to the entire room either.  At least a third of Delta Division will be working Christmas.  Dorian is aware that this is not a sought-after work schedule, no matter a person’s religious affiliation.

“Congratulations,” he says, even though he knows what’s coming.

“And Christmas Eve,” John growls.

“What a hardship for you,” Dorian tells him.  “Truly.”

“Apparently,” John says, glaring at him again, “someone told Sandra that she was ‘misled’ when it came to my Thanksgiving plans.”

“Really,” Dorian says.  “I’m curious to know why she thinks giving you another holiday off will result in a different outcome.”

“She’s already called my mother,” John says.

“Ouch,” Valerie says.  She makes a face when John turns toward her.  “I didn’t know they were on speaking terms.”

“They’re not,” John says.  “She must have left a message.  I don’t know; I was too busy planning the kind of disaster that would require all hands on deck.”

“Or you could just rent a car and stay at a hotel,” Valerie says.  “You could get a vacation out of it, at least.  Have dinner with her, open a couple bottles of wine, and say merry Christmas.  Might be easier than staging a downtown riot.”

“Might be messier,” John grumbles, sitting down.  “Her new father-in-law lives with them.  Sometimes he thinks I’m her husband, and let me tell you, that’s a real treat.”

Valerie’s expression is probably sympathetic.  “You should take someone with you,” she says.  “Family sometimes behaves better or gets distracted by guests.  Maybe both.”

“Oh, I’m taking someone,” John says.  He’s frowning at his screen, eyes scanning like he’s reading something, but when he gets to the bottom he starts over and the screen doesn’t change.  “Benedict Android here is going to be my date.  It’ll save Sandra the trouble of spying on me if he can just file a full report.”

It sounds like a joke.  Dorian assumes it is a joke until Valerie says, “You’re taking Dorian home with you for Christmas?” and John nods.

“Yeah, I’m stuck with him,” he says, starting over at the top of his screen again.  He’s either reading very carefully or not at all.  “You know he worked all of Thanksgiving?  Lucky bastard.”

It doesn’t make any sense, but Valerie doesn’t try to clarify what Dorian’s sure she meant.  “It sounds like he’ll be working all of Christmas, too,” she says with a smile.

Dorian catches her eye, and she nods once.  It looks like the gesture means something, but beyond a simple acknowledgement he can’t generate any possibilities.

“If I have to suffer, so does he,” John says.  “Did you lock the interview with Pascal?  I can’t get in to it.”

“AR mentioned trying to identify something in the background noise,” Valerie says.  “They might be cleaning it up right now.”

John grumbles, but he doesn’t call them.  He gets up and says, “I’m gonna go see what they’re doing.  No one make any New Years plans while I’m gone.”

Dorian waits until he’s left to say, “Do you want to go with him to meet his family at Christmas?  I’m sure he’d prefer your company to mine.”

Valerie just laughs.  “I'm not,” she says.  She doesn’t seem upset about it.  “I wish I knew what he said to get you assigned to him over the holidays.”

“Perhaps he anticipates being in danger,” Dorian says.  John’s caseload is heavy but not unreasonable.  Dorian doesn’t project the risk to be any greater than usual, but it’s usually high.  If John had displayed a tendency toward caution in the past, the request might not seem so strange.

“Sure,” Valerie says.  “Danger from his mother.”

“Are they not on good terms?”  He should probably ask John, for the sake of politeness if nothing else, but he doesn’t imagine John being willing to disclose the information.

“I don’t think she likes having a kid on the force any more than my parents do,” Valerie says.  “Just for different reasons.”

Detective Paul joins them and the conversation ends abruptly.  He and Valerie seem to be going somewhere for lunch, but they don't say where or why and Dorian has no reason to ask.  They're gone when John comes back.

The holidays don’t come up again until that night, when John reaches out and blocks the lab door before Dorian can open it.  “Hey,” he says.

He already has Dorian's attention.  No response seems to be required, so Dorian waits.

“Christmas,” John says.  “You don’t have to come.  I just figured--if you don't want to work."

"I like working," Dorian says.  John may think it's funny when he's unconventional and insubordinate, but he can't say things like that.  "This is what I was made to do."

"You were also made to throw yourself in front of automatic weapons' fire," John says.  "And I don't see you wishing that happened more often."

Dorian is comfortable conceding that point.

"Look, say the word," John tells him.  "You only come if you want to."

Dorian remembers every time John asked “ready?” or “coming?” instead of saying “move” or “come on.”  John is pointedly anti-synthetic but absently solicitous in a way that doesn’t translate to other models.  This is the most explicit he’s ever been about making a decision based on Dorian’s opinion.

“I hope you won’t take this the wrong way,” Dorian says.  He’s careful, because it’s just a question and calling John’s attention to it will get them nowhere.  “But that’s the reason I want to.”


	2. Chapter 2

It comes up three times in three weeks. The first time, it’s because John mocks Richard’s plan to spend Christmas with his mother and Richard retorts that at least he isn’t spending it with a bot. John says he should be so lucky. They get into an argument about what constitutes a social life that ends with everyone yelling, Richard smirking, and Sandra ignoring the entire commotion.

The second time it’s because one of the night shift detectives asks to get Dorian for Christmas, which renders John speechless for several seconds before she clarifies. She wants to borrow Dorian while John’s away. It makes sense and is even flattering but John says no without any explanation. 

The third time is later that day when John asks, apparently reluctantly, if Dorian would rather stay and do detective work with the night shift. With no experience to go on, he doesn’t know the answer. He says no anyway and John seems satisfied.

Dorian tells Rudy about the invitation, which means he hears about it every day until he leaves, but John doesn’t know that so it doesn’t count.

John’s family lives up north, where there’s no wall and better air. It’s three hours by maglev and ten times farther than Dorian’s ever been from the city. When John notices him staring, he offers the window seat. As a joke, Dorian thinks, but he takes it because this is likely to be his only chance to see the rest of the state for himself.

They spend less than two percent of the trip discussing John's family. John gives him names, which Dorian already knows, and minimal information about his mother's invitation, which could be all he has. “Dinner’s at six,” he says. “I’m told there will be a tree.”

There will also be shared overnight accommodations. John doesn’t mention this, but Dorian can see his account. He has a car, but not a hotel room. Property specs indicate that his mother inhabits a four-bedroom house: with a master and an in-law suite, that leaves two guest bedrooms. Dorian assumes John will have the use of one.

He doesn't know where John plans to store a charging android, but security is probably the main concern. As long as it's an interior space it should be defensible.

John spends too much of the trip talking about work and not enough of it reminiscing. He's clearly made this trip before, but Dorian has to ask about every stop individually. Has he gotten off here, what's beyond the platform, would he go again?

John hasn't been to most of the places along the way, which seems strange to Dorian. If he could go, why wouldn't he?

"Because I have other stuff to do," John says when he asks. "Who knew androids get wanderlust, anyway."

Wanderlust, Dorian thinks. It's a nice word, but he's not sure it's the right one. Dorian considers it boredom. Rudy suggested it might be loneliness, though, so he doesn't mention it to John in case he recognizes it.

John drives him all over town after they get off the train. To the beach, to the park, to pick up lunch that they take to another park. This one has kites and dogs and a duck pond instead of a fountain and a war memorial. They walk on sidewalks and take cross streets that are different in a thousand ways from the ones he knows, and Dorian thinks that no recording can capture what actually being somewhere is like.

He knows they’re killing time because John doesn’t want to see his mother. But he'd like to think that the way they’re spending that time isn’t entirely a coincidence.

“Thank you,” Dorian says, when John stops looking for places to pull over and starts paying attention to the onboard GPS. “That was enjoyable.”

“Sure,” John says, surprising him with his easy agreement. He sounds relaxed rather than resigned when he adds, “Better than being at home, anyway.”

Given better options, Dorian would prefer not to negatively affect John's mood. Since the other options involve not getting an answer at all, he doesn't think they count as better. "Why don't you want to see your mother, John?"

“Who says I don’t want to see my mother?” John counters. It doesn’t sound defensive. “Maybe I just want to see you more.”

Dorian looks at him in surprise, and John adds, “Besides, you haven’t had the full Christmas experience until you’ve done it with a crazy old man and a couple of teenagers. Believe me, it’s worth staying away as long as possible.”

“I don’t think I’ve done anything that could be considered the full Christmas experience,” Dorian says. What he wants to say is, _How much more do you want to see me?_ and that isn’t appropriate or relevant. That’s dangerous.

“This is your lucky year,” John tells him.

Dorian thinks that’s true. He isn’t going to jeopardize that luck by looking for more. But John just avoided explaining his reluctance to visit family again, and everything from the casual set of John’s shoulders to the slow rhythm of his heart indicates that Dorian can call him on it without risking a serious incident.

“Why don’t you want to talk about your family?” Dorian asks.

John sounds amused when he says, “I am talking about my family. Why don’t you want to talk about why you came with me instead of switching to night shift with Kelsey? You had a free pass on maintenance duty for the whole weekend.”

Dorian has little in the way of stray thought. Sometimes a routine background process completes, delivering a message irrelevant to the task at hand, or a spontaneous connection will produce an inference he didn’t anticipate. This time, the memory of Rudy pointing out John’s social awareness is both unexpected and alarming.

“You invited me,” he says. And that’s the thing that comes out sounding defensive. It shouldn’t have; he modulated his voice carefully to avoid any sign of concern. The problem is with the words themselves.

John grins at him and Dorian knows he noticed. “You like me,” John says, and his gleeful tone is contagious. Dorian can’t help smiling in return.

“Of course I like you,” Dorian tells him. “Despite your cynical and sometimes abrasive personality, you’re a generous man and a competent detective. I’m lucky to be partnered with you.”

He’s lucky to be partnered with anyone, but John doesn’t remind him. Instead he says, “Going home with me for Christmas is above and beyond the call of duty. You know that, right?”

“I thought we agreed that I’m doing it because I want to,” Dorian says.

“Yeah, but why do you want to?” John insists. “It’s not like my family is fun or anything. My mom thinks the force is gonna get me killed, my sister thinks human cops make things worse, and my grandfather is crazy.”

“I’m not here for your family,” Dorian tells the windshield. “And so far, I think ‘fun’ is a fair descriptor of today’s activities.”

John snorts. “Wait and see,” he says.

He’s smiling when Dorian looks over at him, though, so Dorian says, “You didn’t mention Leelee or Deshi.”

John shakes his head without taking his eyes off the road. “I haven’t seen the kids in years,” he says. “No idea what they’re like now.”

“Did you just admit that you might like them?” Dorian asks.

“You’re right, that’s ridiculous,” John says dryly. “They’re teenagers, right? Teenagers don’t get along with anyone.”

It’s an easy one, and Dorian should probably ignore it lest John think he’s becoming predictable. Except that he is predictable, he’s supposed to be predictable, and the day he stops making fun of John is the day they shut him down for good. Today is not that day.

“So you’ll have something in common,” Dorian says.

“Oh, they’re gonna love you,” John tells him.

The children in question aren't home when John parks his borrowed car into the driveway. Neither is his sister or his step-mother, but John's mother answers the door with a hug and an apology. "Everyone's out getting the tree," she says, "we didn't think you'd be here until later, but I'm on dinner duty."

"Hey, Mom," John says, returning her hug with a smile. "You're cooking?"

"No, I'm guarding the food from Gramps," she says. "Where's your partner?"

"You're looking at him." John lets her go and waves Dorian forward. "This is Dorian. Dorian, this is my mom, Chris."

His mother’s smile doesn’t change, but Dorian recognizes the static quality for what it is: she’s frozen in an effort to cover her reaction. He nods pleasantly to her when she glances in his direction, though she doesn’t make eye contact. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he says. He forgoes either formal or informal address since she hasn’t offered either.

“Come inside,” she says, stepping back from the door.

John follows her in and blocks the door when she tries to close it. Dorian pauses. He’s not about to push in just because John thinks it’s a good idea. Being made to wait outside is… not uncommon, actually. He’s become accustomed to more accommodation from Delta Division than most bots expect to receive.

“Mom,” John says. “What are you doing.” He says it like he already knows, like this is a fight he knew they were going to have and he’s ready.

John has always been ready to fight about bots, Dorian thinks. One way or the other.

“What are you doing?” She sounds calm but not pleased. “You said you were bringing your partner. I didn’t think you meant one of them.”

“His name is Dorian,” John says, still holding the door. “You said I could bring a guest. And hey, here I am. Bringing a guest.”

Of course John wouldn’t mention that his guest was his android partner. It’s not Dorian’s place to be irritated, but if John brought him here just to upset his mother then he can at least be disappointed. He expects better of John.

“This is not a guest,” his mother is saying. “This is a piece of machinery.”

“This is my partner, and my best friend,” John says. He sounds just as deliberately calm as she does. “If you’re not going to treat him that way, then we can stay somewhere else.”

It’s less confrontational than John usually is when he’s spoiling for a fight. His mother looks at Dorian again and he has no idea what to do: smiling might seem condescending, and nodding could be perceived as reinforcing John’s ultimatum. Just looking back must also be wrong, because John’s mother sighs and looks away.

“Courtney’s staying in the kids’ room,” she tells the front hall. “We only have the one extra.”

“We don’t need separate rooms,” John says. It should be obvious: Dorian doesn’t sleep, and he certainly doesn’t need to lie down. But it sounds more familiar than that, and he sees John’s mother take it just the way it sounds.

“We have children visiting,” she says. “Please don’t bring up anything that Courtney will have to talk to them about later.”

John scoffs, pushing the door open farther. “What are they, thirteen now? Thirteen and eleven? What haven’t they heard?”

“Lee is fourteen,” his mother says. “She and Deshi got you presents.”

It sounds like a warning, but John just grins. “Great,” he says. “I got them stuff too. Don’t worry,” he adds, stepping back outside. “I checked with Courtney first.”

Dorian watches John’s mother decide not to say whatever she was about to say, and then John’s clapping him on the shoulder. “You gonna help me bring stuff inside?”

Since the other alternative is standing by the door while John’s mother doesn’t look at him--or closes it in his face--he doesn’t know why John bothers to ask. “You didn’t tell me you got presents,” he says, following John back to the car.

John makes a so-so gesture with his hand. “I didn’t pick them out or anything,” he says. “I made Courtney tell me the most expensive things she didn’t want to buy but doesn’t mind them having. For her and the parents, too. We’re covered.”

Dorian considers this, wondering what John means by “we.” “It sounds like your sister did most of the work.”

John shrugs. “I played the coma survivor card,” he says, dropping one of his bags on the ground and reaching for the other one. “You’d be surprised how far that gets you.”

Dorian has to carry the charger, but John leads the way into the house. His mother is still at the door, and she holds it for both of them, which is more than Dorian expected. “Turn left at the top of the stairs,” she says from behind them.

“Okay, Mom,” John calls over his shoulder. “I’ve never been here before, so I might get confused.”

“The last time I saw you, you couldn’t remember your name,” she calls back.

When John turns at the top of the stairs, he’s looking right at Dorian. “My middle name,” he says under his breath. “Selective amnesia.”

Dorian smiles, and John relaxes visibly. He takes them into the room at the end of the hall, furnished with a separate seating area around the desk and a more restful bed alcove that doesn’t face the holoscreen. John drops his bags by the couch and asks, “You okay?”

“Fine,” Dorian says. “Where would you like me to put this?”

“Your call,” John says. “Look, I should have warned you. I didn’t know she’d be like that.”

“You should have warned her,” Dorian tells him, stowing the charger in the corner behind the desk. “She wasn’t expecting me.”

John is watching him when he turns around. “Yeah,” he says. Dorian thought he’d smirk, shrug it off, or both. Instead John says, “I should have. Sorry.”

Dorian raises his eyebrows. The last time John apologized to him, there were bullets, bad calls, and illegal substances involved. It’s a memory neither of them need to relive, so he asks, “Do you anticipate the same difficulty with the rest of your family?”

He meant to say distress. Not difficulty. Would his presence cause them the same distress. He’s not sure at what point in the cognitive process the word changed.

“No,” John says. “Maybe. I don’t know. Courtney’s all right, but who can tell with kids. They might not even notice.”

Dorian’s relatively certain that the children of a drone operator will know their way around enforcement bots. “And your mother’s wife?” he asks.

John shrugs helplessly, eyes wide and apologetic. It’s such a strange look on him that Dorian doesn’t know what to do with it. “I just woke up from a coma?” John says.

Dorian stares at him while he makes the connection to John’s earlier excuse. “You don’t really think that’s going to work on me,” he says. “I know you.”

Too late, it occurs to him that he’s implied John’s family doesn’t, but John just grins at him. “Worth a shot,” he says. “You sure you don’t want that charger somewhere more… uh, comfortable? Or something?”

Dorian has no idea what that means, and he finally gives up trying to guess. “What do you mean?” he asks.

John makes an awkward case for privacy, which is irrelevant, and security, which is baseless. Dorian moves the charger anyway, positioning it beside the couch at the opposite end from John’s bag. This is apparently satisfactory, because John moves on to complaining about the comforter on the bed and the lack of sufficient closet space.

Dorian ignores both explanations, tracking an approaching car instead. When it slows down for their driveway, he remarks, “I think the tree has arrived.”

“They could have been a little earlier,” John grumbles, glancing at his phone.

“So could we,” Dorian feels compelled to point out.

John gives him an incredulous look. “So we could avoid my mom even longer?” he says. “You’re too enthusiastic about this family reunion thing.”

He’s not the one who suggested he attend, but to be fair, John didn’t invite himself either. Maybe neither of them are meant to be here. If nothing else, the experience should make him grateful for the relative acceptance of the precinct.

Or so he believes until he follows John downstairs and there’s a Christmas tree coming in the front door. At least, he assumes it’s a Christmas tree. It looks like a Colorado blue spruce being awkwardly maneuvered by two women and shepherded by children.

“Hey,” John calls before he even clears the stairs. “Lemme help with that!”

“Yes, do,” the older woman says. John eases into her place, taking the tree as she lets go, and his mother is closing the door behind them. “Thank you, John, and it’s good to see you again.”

“You too,” he says. "Hey, Courtney," he adds, nodding at the younger woman on the other side of the tree, and she smiles back at him.

"Hi John," she says. "Nice timing. Back wall, by the window."

As they negotiate the tree into place, the kids hastily clearing boxes out of the way, Dorian sees the older woman turn her attention to him. This is clearly John’s step-mother. She says, “You must be John’s partner.”

Dorian catches her eye. Her friendly expression looks sincere as she extends her hand. He steps forward to take it automatically, prioritizing politeness subroutines when surrounded by civilians. “Yes,” he says. “I’m Dorian. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“And it’s lovely to meet you,” she tells him. She pats his hand once before she lets it go, adding, “Please call me Aibai.”

“Aibai,” Dorian says, inclining his head to acknowledge the gift. “John speaks very well of you.”

John barely speaks of her at all, but she smiles happily up at him. “As well he should,” she says. “He’s a fine young man.”

"He is," Dorian agrees. He looks around for John's mother, but she's positioning the kids at different angles with instructions to judge the straightness of the tree.

Aibai must see him looking, because she says, "I'm glad Chris was here when you arrived; we didn't want anyone to come home to an empty house. John must have shown you pictures of Lee, there in the blue shirt, and Deshi over by the window?"

"Yes," Dorian says. Only one of the children looks up, but Lee smiles at him and gives a small wave. Courtney follows her gaze and also waves.

"Hello," she calls. "You must be Dorian? I'd come over but I don't want the tree to go through the window."

“That was one time,” John complains. “And the window was open!”

“There was a screen in it,” Courtney says. “I hear it never worked again.”

“I see your willful destruction of property extends to all aspects of your life,” Dorian remarks.

“Does he destroy a lot of stuff at work?” Courtney asks. “Or at home?” She’s kicking the tree stand into place, but she looks up when John points at him.

“Don’t answer that,” John says. “Quick, Deshi, ask him about cats.”

“Tell us!” Courtney exclaims. The tree stand makes a crackling sound but it shimmers into the locked position and she holds her hands up. Not holding the tree anymore, but ready to catch it should something give way. “What’s the last thing he destroyed?”

“A car,” Dorian says, even as John rolls his eyes.

“Are we letting go of this, or what?” John steps back without waiting for an answer and the tree doesn’t lean. “Hey, look. Something else Courtney can kick into submission.”

“All technology can be kicked into submission,” Courtney tells him. “Percussive maintenance, that’s what we call it.”

The silence is brief but profound. They know what he is, or it wouldn’t be so awkward. He wondered, given the easy reception this time around, but either the rest of the family was warned or they’re just less inclined to fight about it.

“Usually Dorian’s the one kicking me,” John says. He’s smiling, but it’s tight and he’s not treating this like teasing at the precinct. This is serious somehow.

“I can’t believe I just said that,” Courtney says, right on top of him. “I’m so sorry.” She steps away from the tree and comes over to Dorian, holding out her hand. “Hi,” she adds. “I’m Courtney. I put my foot in my mouth a lot.”

“Ah,” Dorian says politely, taking her hand. “So you’re related to John.”

She laughs. John protests, but only for show, and maybe the environment isn’t as unpleasant as it seemed at first. Courtney introduces each of her children, more formally than Aibai did but without asking them to shake hands. Aibai tells them all to start decorating the tree before she excuses herself, and John’s mother points everyone toward the boxes.

She doesn’t look away when Dorian catches her staring at him. He’s not sure what he sees in her expression. She probably doesn’t know what she sees in his either.

He knows what’s in John’s expression when he holds up decorations: amusement, fondness, and something that’s as relaxed as John ever gets. So Dorian takes the star garland and puts it on John’s head, and he makes the two bird holograms alight on the tree. The children are digging out handfuls of cordless twinkle lights, which John tries to take away from them, and Dorian watches Courtney move every one that ends up on the tree.

When Aibai comes back with cookies, she offers him the platter like he’s one of the kids. He sees John nodding vigorously behind her, pointing at himself. Dorian assumes he’s supposed to take one and give it to John, possibly in addition to whatever cookies John is offered himself.

He declines as politely as he can. John pretends to be calm and courteous when the cookies come to him, but he makes a face at Dorian when Aibai’s not looking. Dorian expects to be accused of cookie-blocking momentarily.

It feels like a kind of acceptance, he thinks.


	3. Chapter 3

The tree is mostly decorated without John’s help.  He goes through several boxes of decorations, but the only ones that end up on the tree are put there by someone else.  He pretends to be angling for more cookies.  He complains about not having anywhere to sit.  He finds a remote-controlled cat toy and uses it to harass anyone who talks to him for more than thirty-four seconds at a time.

In short, he turns not participating into an art form and refuses to answer questions through a complicated system of evasion that almost looks accidental.

He also looks calm and happy when he leans up against the doorframe, watching the kids run back and forth from the tree to the boxes.  He looks pleased when Aibai escorts her father into the living room, slowly, and with no visible interest in John, Dorian, or the women at all.  The old man watches only the children and he doesn’t speak to anyone.

Like John, Dorian wonders?  Preferring to observe rather than to interact?

“Dorian,” Aibai says.  “Will you help me set the table?”

“Of course,” Dorian says, handing off the rest of the tinsel to Courtney.

She looks awkward, but she accepts the decoration from him.  “I can help with the table,” she says, looking from him to her mother.  Dorian isn’t sure whether it’s her ability with tinsel or his ability with table settings that she doubts.

“We’ll handle it,” Aibai says kindly.  “Put the finishing touches on that tree, won’t you?”

John is watching Dorian now, sharp and less relaxed.  He doesn’t offer to help aloud, but he does it silently.  Just the way he’s suddenly standing makes it clear that he’s a step away from Dorian’s side.

Dorian inclines his head smoothly, nodding to Aibai and following her with a reassuring look in John’s direction.  He doesn’t know what John expects, but they’re in little danger here.  The house’s security is top of the line, and it should give adequate warning in the event of trouble.

“Thank you for joining me,” Aibai says in the kitchen.  She’s pulling out dishes and flatware with efficient speed.  “I wanted to ask how you prefer to be involved in dinner, but I couldn’t think of a polite way to do it.”

“How I prefer to be involved in dinner?” Dorian repeats, accepting the stack she hands him.

“I want to set a place at the table for you,” she says.  “Is that appropriate?  Do you eat?  Do you mind being around food if you don’t?”

“Ah,” Dorian says, smiling.  “I don’t need to eat.  I would appreciate a place at the table, however.  If it’s not too much trouble.”

Apparently it isn’t, and that’s all she says about it.  He overhears her whisper to Courtney, though, when the family gathers at the table later.  Her daughter moves to sit next to her in what looks like a habitual motion, and Aibai whispers, “Why don’t you sit next to Chris.”

John’s asking if he wants a drink, and Dorian doesn’t think anyone else overhears.  “No, thank you,” Dorian says, watching Courtney casually move around John to take the chair on his other side.  The kids are already sitting on the far side of the table, and Aibai’s father is seated to her left.

The space between Aibai and John--the one Courtney just vacated--has been left for Dorian.  John’s turning the empty water glass there upside-down, but he pours a splash of something into the wine glass.  “Kids?” he adds.  “Cider?”

They hold up their glasses and John fills them halfway while Chris starts pouring water.  Aibai has a wine bottle, and after filling her own glass she offers it to John.  “Trade you,” she says.

John fills his glass with cider first and passes the wine to Courtney.  It’s easy and unremarkable and Dorian finds the entire ritual fascinating.  He doesn’t understand the significance until they’re sitting down and Chris raises her wine glass.  “To having everyone home for the holidays,” she says.

No one else speaks while Courtney lifts her glass and says, “To family.”  She glances down the table with a smile.  “New and old.”

“To family and friends,” John says, and he’s holding his glass but he nudges Dorian instead of lifting it up.  “You want to make a toast?  You don’t have to.”

Dorian looks around the table, then at the wine glass John had poured a single sip of cider into.  He picks it up.  “To friends,” he says carefully.

“To sharing a house and a meal,” Aibai says.  Her father is holding his fork, not his glass, and he’s staring down at the table without moving.  Aibai puts her hand over his and says gently, “Lee?”

“To Christmas,” Lee says, lifting her glass.

Beside her, Deshi echoes, “To Christmas,” and then they’re moving and it’s noisy again.  There are glasses clinking and compliments for the wine and the smell of the potatoes.  Dorian doesn’t presume, but John and Aibai both tap his glass with their own and Lee stands up so she can reach over the table and do the same.

Part of a toast is to drink, Dorian knows.  Everyone else does, but no one is watching him, busy serving themselves and discussing which way to pass the food.  John has clearly poured him the minimum amount of cider required for a toast, but he doesn’t say anything when Dorian just holds his glass and watches.

It takes approximately eight seconds to realize that he’s expected to pass food even if he doesn’t take any himself.  He doesn’t know why it takes so long, except that Aibai serves both herself and her father and John is playing keep-away with Lee across the table.  It isn’t until Courtney says, “Dorian, could you send the cranberry down?” that he realizes he’s part of the system too.

Aibai’s father doesn’t pass food, though he does eat: slowly, and with some assistance from Aibai when it comes to cutting things into bite-sized pieces.  Dorian doesn’t eat, but he does pass dishes.  The activity seems to be at least as inclusive as eating.  Everyone talks to Aibai’s father, to compliment his sweater or to ask how he likes the food, but they don’t seem to expect a response.  Expectations of Dorian are higher.

“So, Dorian,” Courtney says, after Deshi has mumbled his way through Chris’ questions about school and Lee has given all the carrots from her peas and carrots to John.  “Tell us how you and John met.”

“No, don’t,” John says immediately.  “I thought we didn’t talk about work at the table.  When did that change?”

“Everyone talks about work except me and you,” Courtney says.  “Besides, this isn’t work.  This is how you met.”

“We met at work,” John says.  “Leave him alone.”

“We met at the lab,” Dorian points out.  “It’s technically private property.”

“Contractor property is precinct property,” John tells him.

“That’s not legally or practically true,” Courtney says.

John points at her.  “And this is why we don’t talk about work.”

“Oh, come on,” Courtney says.  “I’m sure there are much more embarrassing stories than how you two met.”

“That’s true,” Dorian puts in.  “Would you like to hear one of them?”

“No,” John says firmly.

“Yes!” Courtney exclaims.  “Suitable for all ages, please.”

Deshi doesn’t look like he’s listening, but Lee seems interested.  It’s probably better that Dorian be the one telling the stories.  He’s certainly a better judge of what’s age appropriate than John is.

“Well,” Dorian says.  “There was the time when John went undercover as a computer hacker.  He dressed the part quite well.”

“Right,” Courtney says with a grin.  “You would.  Did you keep all your old clothes?  You used to hack, right?”

“No,” John says.

“That’s not what I hear,” Courtney tells him.  

“Okay, for the record?” John says.  “Val was the one with the purple hair.”

“Because you refused to put anything but gel in yours,” Dorian says.  

“Diva,” Courtney says.

“Can I dye my hair?” Lee asks.

“No,” John says.

“Sure,” Courtney tells her.  “If you get it done professionally and you pay for it.”

“I can do it myself,” Lee says.  “Keena says I can use some of her nanobots.”

“Nope,” Courtney says without missing a beat.  “No secondhand nanobots.  First user, professionally programmed, customized for your hair.”

“Or you could use actual dye,” Chris says.  “I can show you how we did it in my day.”

Lee looks scandalized.  “Then I wouldn’t be able to change it back!”

“Tradition says you wash it out,” Aibai says, smiling.  “Or dye it back.”

“Grandma, hair dye is toxic,” Lee tells her.  “It’s bad to have it on your skin.  And if it’s in your hair, it’s going to get on your skin.”

“Whereas hacked nanobots next to your brain are perfectly safe,” Courtney adds.

Dorian looks at John, and they must be thinking the same thing because John is looking back.  John lists one shoulder in a shrug.  It’s not conclusive, since John’s understanding of what’s family-friendly is dubious at best.  But Dorian offers, “I can reprogram cosmetic nanobots.”

“Yeah,” John says.  “Dorian the beauty consultant.”

“I want them professionally customized,” Courtney says.

“Of course,” Dorian says, because she means no.  She doesn’t want Lee to change her hair color, and this is the barrier she’s put in place to prevent that.  He recognizes a social cue when he sees one.

John doesn’t.  “Hey,” he says, “if you think Dorian can’t hack nanobots a hundred times more precisely than some cosmetic specialist, you’re slipping.”

“John,” Dorian says quietly.  “It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not,” John says.  “Look, Courtney, do what you want, but don’t slam my partner.”

“Sorry,” Courtney says, leaning around John to catch Dorian’s eye.  “If you’re taller than two feet, I don’t know much about you.  Are you really good with nanobots?”

“Let’s be honest here,” Chris interrupts, putting her fork down.  “No one needs to apologize.  It’s not like his feelings are hurt.”

“That’s true,” Dorian agrees.  Courtney’s conditions are perfectly reasonable: he offered, and she declined.  There’s no cause for ill will.  At least not toward John’s sister, and he tries not to rank anyone’s hospitality where none is required.

“That’s not true,” John snaps.  “Just because he’s not offended doesn’t mean he doesn’t have feelings.”

“You didn’t think I had feelings at first either,” Dorian points out.  He tries to sound patient and amused, but he’s afraid it comes out sounding resentful.

“Yeah, because I was a jerk,” John says.  “I expect better of my family.”

“Sweet as always,” Courtney says lightly.  “Are there any pictures of you from the hacker case?  Dorian, you have pictures, right?”

“Don’t give her pictures,” John says.

“Too late,” Dorian says.  He has a variety of images from that case, and Valerie contributed some of her own.  He sent only the least controversial to Courtney, of course.  He’s not trying to make anyone uncomfortable.

Courtney is already pulling out her phone while Chris says, “How can he disobey an order?  Is it because he’d already done it when you said no?  That seems dangerous.”

“He can make his own decisions,” John says irritably.

“Wow, is that what hackers look like these days?” Courtney asks.  “John, you look positively sexy.”

“Mom,” Lee complains.

Courtney doesn’t say anything, just turns the phone around to face her daughter.  Lee squints at it, then leans across the table to look closer.  “Okay,” she says.  “I guess.  If you like old guys.”

“Hey,” John protests, and Courtney laughs at him.

“May I remind you,” she says, showing the phone to Chris, “that you really don’t want your fourteen-year-old niece to think you’re hot.”

“I don’t remember you dressing like that when you did programming work,” Chris says.

“Aha,” Courtney says.  “I knew you were a hacker.”

“Working with computers doesn’t make someone a hacker,” John says.  “I think you need to brush up on your subcultures.”

“Okay,” she says.  “Bot lover.”

“That’s offensive,” John tells her.  “You shouldn’t say that in front of children.”

“Excuse me,” Aibai says.  “Why haven’t I seen these pictures yet?”

When Courtney tries to pass her phone down the table John intercepts it.  “Nice try,” he says.  “Nothing to see here.”

While he and Courtney argue over the phone, Dorian inclines his head toward Aibai.  “If you don’t mind giving me your phone number,” he suggests quietly.

She nods, very seriously, and a few seconds later she’s tipping her phone toward him under the level of the table.  He takes the number and sends her the pictures.  She smiles at him and mouths, _Thank you._

No dishes are harmed in the ensuing argument, which doesn’t quite degenerate into a food fight.  Dorian thinks it’s a close thing, given that John and Courtney seem to have similar issues with impulse control, but Aibai’s father speaks for the first time to tell the “children” to stop being so loud.  Lee and Aibai both seem to find this very funny.

Having started speaking, he doesn’t stop, and Dorian isn’t the only one who’s introduced a second time.  Aibai goes around the whole table, reminding her father quickly of who’s who.  He frowns at Lee but doesn’t comment, then stops again at John.  “Where’ve you been?” he demands.

“Uh, in a coma,” John says.  “I got shot.”

“In the head?” the old man asks.  The words are slow and skeptical and they make Courtney snicker.

“In the leg,” John says.  “Got a new one now.  Took me a couple years to wake up.”

Aibai’s father doesn’t question this, looking at Dorian instead.  “You?” he asks.

Dorian thinks it’s a question, at least.  He’s not sure what the question is, but this is certainly the most alert the man has seemed since they arrived.  “I’m John’s partner,” he says, since Aibai has already given his name.

“How long,” the man says, sounding like someone who knows he’s being misunderstood, “were you out?”

Surprised, Dorian resists the urge to look at John.  “Four years,” he says.

“Early,” the old man grunts.  When Dorian just looks at him, he tries again.  “They shut you down.  Early.”

“Yes,” Dorian says slowly.  How aware is Aibai’s father when it comes to current events?  Does he recognize Dorian, or was he told?  Did he make the connection to things that must have been in everyone’s newsfeed three years ago?

“Why,” the man mutters.

“I don’t know,” Dorian replies.  He doesn’t mention that he’s not allowed to remember.  He doesn’t see any reason to keep reminding them that he’s not human when John’s mother seems to be doing it for all of them.

The man grunts again, but when he looks down at his fork he just mumbles, “Good dinner.”

“Thank you,” Aibai says with a smile.  “We’re glad you could join us.”  She gives Dorian a sideways look and a nod that may indicate this is true of him as well, so he smiles politely in return.  He thinks it’s acceptable even if he misinterpreted her expression.

She spends a large portion of the rest of the meal talking to her father.  Lee talks to him as well, and once he compliments Courtney on the food.  She tells him thank you, but Aibai did most of the work, and he doesn’t say much else.  Dorian spends most of his time watching John interact, or not, but he does monitor responses from Aibai’s father.  The man seems intermittently lucid, but it’s possible that it’s his ability to communicate that’s variable, rather than his actual awareness of his surroundings.

After dinner, John volunteers to help Chris with cleanup.  He claims that Aibai and Dorian did most of the setup, so they should be excused, and when Courtney tries to protest that she hasn’t done anything he tells her to make hot chocolate and stop complaining.  Chris replies that Courtney brought two guests instead of one and has therefore done twice as much work as John--so he should make the hot chocolate, in addition to helping clean up the kitchen.

Dorian concludes that John comes by his competitive spirit honestly.  He tries not to read too much into the fact that Chris finally acknowledged him as a guest, because she hasn’t looked at him since he sent Courtney the pictures of John.  He reviews the pictures several times but finds nothing inappropriate about them.

“Dorian,” Aibai calls from the living room.  “We may need you and Courtney to help with the stockings.”

“Make my hot chocolate a double,” Courtney tells John, who just rolls his eyes and turns his back.  He catches Dorian’s eye, though, and he smiles.

Dorian means to smile back, but Courtney puts a hand on his arm and it startles him so much that he looks at her instead.  “Is it okay to touch you?” she asks, possibly responding to his expression.  “I mean, John does, but I know he’s different.  Obviously.”

“Yes, it’s fine.”  Civilians ask sometimes.  Cops never do.  He always says yes, because it’s the people who ask that he doesn’t mind.

“Are you much stronger than humans?” Courtney asks, as they walk into the living room.  “Tell me if I should mind my own business.”

“It’s fine,” Dorian says again.  “And yes, I’m considerably stronger than unenhanced humans.”

“Can you pick me up?” Lee wants to know.  She’s standing next to a pile of stockings, hands on her hips, and Dorian doesn’t bother to tell her that any man his size could pick up a 14-year-old child.

“Yes,” he says instead.

“Well, then I think you’ve solved the problem of how to hang the stockings,” Aibai says from the couch.  Her father is settled in the armchair next to her.  He has yarn and blunt-tipped knitting needles in his lap, neither of which he seems to notice.  “If you’re willing to give the kids a boost, they can put those stockings wherever they want.”

“I want them to go above the windows,” Lee says.  “Because it looks kind of like a mantle.”

They don’t have a fireplace, which Dorian understands is the traditional location for Christmas stockings.  Lee is already picking up stockings, so he asks, “How are you going to attach them to the window?”

“With a hook,” she says.  This is apparently so obvious that it requires no other explanation, so he doesn’t ask.

“I want mine to be next to the door,” Deshi says.  They’re the first words Dorian has heard him volunteer without prompting all evening.

“Pretty sure I can help you reach the top of the door,” Courtney says.  “You’re not that big yet.”

She does, which is helpful because it means Dorian can copy her manners when lifting Lee.  He doesn’t have to hold her as close as Courtney does, but he puts his hands on her hips and lifts her slowly, letting her grab his shoulder when she’s uncertain.  She has a hook in her hand that bonds immediately to the window trim.

“Wow,” Deshi says, watching from across the room.  “You are strong.”

“Put me down so I can get the other stockings,” Lee demands.

“Say thank you,” Courtney reminds her.

“Thank you,” Lee adds quickly, as he sets her back down.  “Can you pick up a car?”

“Most cars,” Dorian says.  “Yes.”

“Is that typical?” Courtney wants to know.  “If you don’t mind me asking?  I mean, you look… very human.  And I know how hard it is to make something that has leverage in all directions, let alone something that doesn’t look like--well, a weight machine.”

“Yes,” Dorian says.  “My series was designed to be a compromise between familiarity and utility.  We’re meant to look, act, and feel as human as possible, while still being able to function as independent tactical units when separated from backup or external direction.”

“So John wasn’t kidding when he said you can make your own decisions,” Courtney says.

“He was not,” Dorian agrees.  “I can function absent of instruction indefinitely, but I’m programmed to base my decisions on a malleable set of protocols defined by the organization I work for.”

“Okay,” Lee says.  “Can you lift me up again?  Grandma, can I put your stocking next to mine?”

Aibai nods, Dorian lifts Lee up, and Courtney asks, “So, if you didn’t work for the precinct, your behavior might change?”

“It would change,” Dorian says over his shoulder.  “For example, I would no longer be qualified to drive a squad car, make arrests, or execute a search warrant.”

“Oh,” Courtney says.  “Okay, but your… personality wouldn’t change?  Who you are as a person?”

“I don’t know,” Dorian says.  “I suppose it depends on how much who I am is determined by the job I do.  I’ve never been anything but a police officer, so I don’t have anything to compare myself to.”

“Can you move this way?” Lee asks.  “So I can reach the corner?”

He moves, and she says thank you without being prompted this time.

Courtney is helping Deshi hang another stocking beside the door.  When Dorian next looks at Aibai, her father is picking at the yarn in his lap but still ignoring the needles.  Aibai’s watching Lee stare critically at the stockings over the windows, but she smiles at Dorian when she catches his eye.

He thinks they’re a remarkably tolerant family, all things considered.

John calls for a hot chocolate order eventually, and both of the kids disappear into the kitchen to choose their own flavors.  Dorian doesn’t ask for any, but neither does Aibai or her father.  Courtney tells John to make sure hers is mint, then settles down on the empty couch.

“Should we watch a movie?” she asks.  “We could pick one now before the kids come back and make us watch cartoons instead.”

“Christmas Lights,” Aibai says, and Courtney smiles.

“Sure,” she says.  “Sounds good.”

“Dorian,” Aibai adds.  “Do you have any favorite Christmas movies?”

Courtney pauses, but Dorian doesn’t and he tells them so.  He doesn’t say more than that, and he thinks it sounds as close to normal as he’ll get.  He accepts Courtney’s invitation to sit on the couch with her, which he only later understands when John and Chris come in with mugs.  Courtney gets up to help them serve, and she nudges John toward the seat she’s just vacated.

John doesn’t balk.  The kids brought out adjustable foam chairs to put in front of the tree, and Courtney takes one of them when Lee sits on the floor instead.  Chris joins Aibai on the other couch.  Aibai’s father has half a mitten in his lap, which speaks to greater dexterity and speed than Dorian expected, but it’s John he can’t stop glancing at.

Sprawled against the far side of the couch, John has a mug in one hand and his eyes on the screen.  But his knee is almost touching Dorian’s, and John never sits like that.  Or rather, Dorian has never seen him sit like that.  The only reference he has for it is the way members of the K-9 unit sit when they’re waiting for a dog to jump into their lap.

John’s parents don’t seem to have a dog, and if there’s a cat in the house then Dorian hasn’t seen it.  He watches the rest of the family rearrange themselves as the movie goes on, and soon John’s posture doesn’t seem out of place at all.  Dorian is aware that he himself looks more unnatural when he’s still than at any other time, but of all the things he can mimic, this one was never a priority.

By the time the movie ends, Aibai and Courtney are both asleep.  The children are paying more attention to their phones than they are to the communal screen, and Aibai’s father is starting on a second mitten.  Dorian reaches out to touch John’s shoulder when he doesn’t move, but even saying his name prompts no response.

“Why don’t you put on your pajamas,” Chris is telling the children quietly.  “And we’ll see who’s ready to open a present or two.”

Dorian is aware that some families open presents on Christmas Eve: one, or several, or all.  Lee and Deshi seem to be the only ones who still have the energy or interest for such an activity, but as the youngest, their willingness to participate is the most important.  He’s about to touch John again when Chris says his name.

“Dorian.”  It’s the first time she’s addressed him directly, so he pauses and returns her gaze.  Her eyes barely meet his before she’s looking past him at John.  “I don’t know if you can understand this, but losing my son is my biggest fear.  And if he self-destructs because of something that’s happened, or… something that will happen…  I don’t know how to save him.”

He wants to say that John is perfectly capable of saving himself.  He wants to say it and believe it.  He can’t, so he offers her the only promise he has.

“I don’t know if you can understand this,” Dorian tells her.  “John is literally the most important person in the world to me.  I would do anything to keep him from being hurt.  I assure you that when he dies, it will be because I’m already gone.”

Aibai’s father continues working in silence, but Dorian can hear the change in John’s breathing.  He isn’t sleeping.  Dorian doesn’t look away from Chris.

She looks from John to him, but no one says anything else until Deshi comes back into the room.  “Can we pick which present we get to open this year?” he asks.

“That depends on which one you pick,” Chris tells him.  She says it lightly, cheerfully, as though it’s amusing.  In her words, Dorian hears the implicit rules he lives by and all the choices he isn’t allowed to have.

He doesn’t think it’s amusing at all.

“Hey,” John mutters, sitting up so he’s no longer braced against the back of the couch.  He edges into Dorian’s space to say quietly, “What’s going on?”

Aibai is awake now too, scolding Chris for teasing the children and gently shaking Courtney when she moves.  So Dorian just says, “I know you heard me.”

John doesn’t protest or complain.  He just lowers his voice even more and asks, “You think she gets it?”

“I don’t know,” Dorian murmurs.  He wonders if John does.  If either of them do, since none of Rudy’s advice has made it any clearer to him.  “You might be a better judge.”

John leans in, the warning enough that Dorian can move, rocking with it when John’s shoulder bumps his.  “I got it,” John says softly.  “Thanks, man.”

It makes Dorian smile.  When Lee arrives, they watch the children choose their presents, and Dorian thinks that nothing has really changed.  And yet, sitting with John in his family’s house on Christmas Eve, it all feels very different.


End file.
